


The Wall Thing

by rideahorse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actual Puppy Kyoutani Kentarou, Feelings, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Pining, Third Year Kyouhaba, Ultimate Wingman Watari Shinji, Yahaba is hopeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideahorse/pseuds/rideahorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yahaba stumbles, but a hand on his arm catches him.  Kyoutani helps tug him to his feet, and the hand lingers, thumb idly rubbing circles across his bicep.  Words escape Yahaba in a breath, and they sound like, 'Thank you,' but they feel a whole lot like, 'Kiss me.'</p><p>“Be careful,” Kyoutani says, voice too soft to be a grumble.</p><p>Yahaba can’t help it; he glances at Kyoutani’s lips.  “I’ll try,” he mumbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wall Thing

**Author's Note:**

> So many people asked me to continue this one Kyouhaba drabble so this is the product of that.
> 
> This was so hard to write bc I hate myself and ended up writing some parts out of order so the character development (ha!) is soooo bad forgive me.

“Did you two do your thing?”

 

Yahaba has to pause to think for a second, because as far as he’s concerned, he’d just been telling Watari about one of his _most_ recent arguments with Kyoutani.(They’d become much more frequent since Yahaba became captain, and sometimes Yahaba has trouble keeping track of them.)“Our thing?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

Watari waves his hand in front of him.“You know, your wall thing.”

 

Yahaba’s expression must be _especially_ blank, because Watari explains without being prompted.“The thing you guys do when you argue where you push each other against a wall and we all pretend to not notice the tension?”

 

Yahaba’s jaw drops.“There is not _tension_ ,” he hisses, and Watari holds up his hands in surrender.“Especially not the kind you must be thinking of.”

 

“Hey, I’m just calling it as I see it,” Watari mumbles around a mouthful of his lunch.“Er—how the whole team sees it.”He shrugs, nudging Yahaba with an elbow and a wicked grin.“Everyone except you two, I guess.”

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba does see it, but only during the most inconvenient time: when he has two hands fisted in Kyoutani’s collar, tugging the fabric taut against his chest and returning Kyoutani’s venomous glare with his own.(The wall’s there too, behind Kyoutani.Apparently it always is.)

 

They don’t hate each other, Yahaba knows.There had been some long-winded discussion near the end of last year, and they’d worked out some things—enough to know that there’s no hate, there is respect, and they just don’t get along most of the time.Yahaba supposes it’s naive to think he can get along with everybody, so Kyoutani’s not exactly a _friend_ , but he might as well be.

 

The fights aren’t about hate, or being mean without purpose (though he supposes they end up that way sometimes); they’re about improvements, in the strangest of ways.Yahaba’s used to tight-lipped constructive criticisms to get his teammates to improve, but with Kyoutani, he can say exactly what comes to mind, and Kyoutani gives it to him right back.

 

It’s therapeutic.They yell at each other, push each other around, glare at each other, and then—it’s over.They go back to their ways.Kyoutani behaves.Yahaba throws better tosses.And it lasts two days before they have another one.

 

Yahaba dares to say the fights are good. 

 

He _likes_ the fights.

 

He likes the venting, and the physicality.He likes seeing Kyoutani’s face up-close, all anger and passion and stubbornness.In some ways, Kyoutani reminds him of himself, because everything he spends so much time trying to conceal is written plainly across Kyoutani’s face at any given time of day.Yahaba is angry, and no one but Kyoutani knows it.Kyoutani is often kind, and no one but Yahaba knows that.

 

And then there’s the physical aspect of Kyoutani’s face that he likes.Kyoutani’s got really warm eyes, when get you get close enough to see them—a kind of honey brown that contrasts the black surrounding them.Yahaba still doesn’t understand the eyeliner, but yet again, he’s never really asked.(Besides, it _works_ , doesn’t it?)

 

Kyoutani’s also got really nice lips.They’re the kind of lips that are really full (not that anyone would ever see, because he’s always got them pressed into an angry line), and Yahaba finds himself looking at them more often than not during what Watari refers to as “their wall thing.”They infuriate Yahaba a little bit, because they must be really soft, and that would probably mean they’re nice to kiss.

 

Kyoutani’s probably a good kisser.

 

At that thought, Yahaba yanks his hands back in a motion sudden enough to cause those damned lips to part in surprise.

 

“What the fuck—?”

 

Yahaba’s mind draws a blank.What were they arguing about?He can’t even remember.He gulps in a breath and steps back, turning so that Kyoutani can’t see his face.“Do—do better next time,” he gambles, and stumbles out of the locker room, feeling Kyoutani’s eyes hot on his back.

 

——————————-

 

“I’m fucked,” Yahaba announces, putting down his lunch and glaring out at nothing in particular. _It’s your fault, too_ , he wants to add, because he probably wouldn’t have even noticed how kissable Kyoutani is (or how much Yahaba _wants_ to kiss him) if it weren’t for Watari.Probably.

 

He groans, burying his face in his hands. _Nope,_ he thinks. _It was only a matter of time._

 

Watari quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t ask.“Yeah,” he says after a long moment.“You definitely are.”

 

Yahaba whines in response.

 

“But hey, I wouldn’t be so hopeless.You’re not the tortured soul type,” Watari advises.Yahaba can hear the crinkling of a snack wrapper, and then Watari’s voice is muffled, speaking around a mouthful of food.“Plus, it’s not like he doesn’t look at you in the same way.”

 

Yahaba’s head pops up.“He doesn’t—“ he starts, but the sincerity on Watari’s face gives him pause.“He does?”

 

Watari shrugs.“Give it time.He’ll work up his courage.And if not—“His grin grows wicked, and Yahaba frowns weakly.“Well, you could always shove him up against the wall again.”

 

——————————-

 

_Fucked_ is a word that describes Yahaba’s situation rather lightly, he realizes a few days later, with no reoccurrences of “their wall thing.” Yahaba prides himself on having avoided them so far, which is hard. _Not_ yelling at Kyoutani is hard.Kyoutani still messes up, and so does Yahaba, and it’s all Yahaba can do to refrain from downright screaming his frustrations.

 

There are occasions when the words are on the tip of his tongue, his irritation bubbling up and hands twitching in the direction of Kyoutani’s collar.

 

But he holds back—because God forbid they have a repeat of the wall thing, and Yahaba ends up staring at his lips again. 

 

(Yahaba’s quickly able to rule out Watari’s assurances as mere emotional support; there's no way Kyoutani is as… _interested_ as he is.He makes Watari promise to never bring it up again, which Watari agrees to, albeit a little reluctantly.)

 

What Yahaba does do, instead of shoving Kyoutani up against a wall and venting his frustrations, is stare.A lot.

 

He stares when Kyoutani’s spiking, and when Kyoutani’s serving, and when Kyoutani’s talking with (read: yelling at) Kindaichi, and when Kyoutani’s drinking his water bottle, and when Kyoutani’s standing, and breathing, and—

 

Watari catches him staring several times, grinning that same shit-eating grin that started this whole dilemma.Kyoutani catches him too, a few times, and Yahaba thanks his lucky stars that Kyoutani’s as slow as can be when it comes to people things. 

 

“Fuck off,” Kyoutani says to him out of the blue one practice, and Yahaba breaks himself out of whatever zoned-out funk he’d been in to realize he’d been staring.Again.

 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, and stalks away.

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba jumps a bit when the door slams as he’s packing up after practice, but a quick glance to the exit it shows him it’s just Kyoutani being his usual angry self.Yahaba sighs, refocusing on his bag as Kyoutani slams things around in his locker.It’s silent for a long moment, and Yahaba pretends to not be clinging on to every sound, and then—

 

“What did I do?”

 

Yahaba raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t turn from his bag as he finishes tucking in his uniform to take home to wash.“You fucked up your serve big-time,” he says easily.

 

Kyoutani clicks his tongue in irritation.“That’s not what I meant.”

 

A frown causes Yahaba’s forehead to crease, and he glances over at Kyoutani.“What, then?”

 

“What did I do to scare you?”

 

Yahaba blinks, and laughs, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders.He shakes his head, glancing back down to finish stuffing his bags.“You don’t scare me,” he says simply.

 

“Then _why_ —“

 

Explaining the truth would be a whole lot harder than anything Yahaba wants to deal with, so he settles on a lie.“ _Maybe_ I figured we should start trying to get along better.”

 

Kyoutani snorts, but it sounds teasing.“That’s bullshit.Who’d want to get along with you?”

 

“Mmhmm.”Yahaba slings his bag over his shoulder, walking past Kyoutani (and yes, _maybe_ he makes sure to check Kyoutani’s shoulder with his, because he’s a little bit of a petty person).“Well.Fix your fucking serve, won’t you?” 

 

Kyoutani holds his gaze, a ghost of a smile on his lips.He’s trying to scowl, Yahaba realizes, and it almost makes Yahaba himself smile, before he recoils at the thought.“Sure,” Kyoutani mumbles, and turns back to his locker, leaving Yahaba feeling dazed.

 

——————————-

 

If Yahaba thinks he has it bad when he notices Kyoutani’s lips, he has a whole other thing coming when he discovers Kyoutani’s hands.

 

They’re big, the fingers much less skinny and delicate than Yahaba’s, and calloused.At least, he can only assume they must be, from all the volleyball he plays, and from the scarce brushes that Yahaba sometimes feels against his arms when they’re arguing. 

 

Kyoutani sits beside him during one of their water breaks, and Yahaba watches him drink, head tilted back and eyes blissfully closed. He has scars along the back of his hands, but not along his knuckles, which makes Yahaba question the accuracy of the rumors that boast of the fights Kyoutani always starts. 

 

Yahaba wonders what those hands would feel like on him—skimming his sides, tracing his back, tightening around his hips.He thinks they’d be gentle, almost, sometimes.Other times, maybe rough.Hard enough to bruise.Soft enough to burn.

 

Kyoutani glances over, catching him staring, but the motion is slow enough to make Yahaba think he’d already known for a while.

 

“Help me with math during lunch.”

 

Yahaba’s lips twist to the side; he snorts.“The polite thing to do is _ask_.”

 

Kyoutani grunts.“Are you going to help me with math during lunch or not?”

 

His stubbornness is shockingly _endearing_ , and Yahaba resists the urge to smile.“Yeah, whatever,” he says, and stands up, calling practice back into action.

 

——————————-

 

“For the last time, Kyoutani, do the fucking math problem.”

 

“I _hate_ math,” Kyoutani protests, nose scrunched up in distaste.

 

“What, because you can’t stand rules, can you?” Yahaba quips, smile bordering less on the end of “teasing” and more on the end of “affection.”

 

Kyoutani quirks an eyebrow.“Yeah,” he says simply.“I hate the rules.But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid, or nothin’.I’m good at English, and science, sometimes.”

 

Yahaba’s worst grade is in English, but he pushes that thought out of mind.“Wha—but English has even _more_ rules.”

 

“Yeah, but those are meant for breaking.You ever watched American TV?” 

 

Yahaba shakes his head. _I wouldn’t be able to understand it if I did_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say it for risk of ruining his pride.

 

“I watch it sometimes, and no native speakers follow any rules.English is a shit language, it just—“ Kyoutani’s shoulders rise and fall in a languid motion.“It just does whatever.”

 

“Hm,” Yahaba says, and turns back to the math book sitting between them, scribbling out the set-up for the next problem.“I guess I just don’t get it, then.”

 

“Maybe if you’d watch an American movie, you’d see.”

 

This time, he admits to his faults.“I wouldn’t be able to understand it.”

 

“If you watched it with me, you would.”

 

Yahaba loses track of what he’s writing, his pencil reaching a standstill.Ever-so-slowly, he turns to glance at Kyoutani, weighing the meaning of the words. _It sounds like a date_ , Yahaba thinks, but knows it isn’t.He swallows.“That an offer?”

 

Kyoutani glances away, the tips of his ears pink.“Yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Yahaba breathes.And that’s what friends do, isn’t it?They hang out together, they watch movies, they spend time with each other.He nods, chewing his lip.“Alright.”

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba stares at Kyoutani _too_ _much_ , to the point where it’s really not subtle.Watari notices, Kunimi notices—even the dreadfully oblivious Kindaichi notices, and almost points it out, before being silenced by Watari’s elbow in his stomach.

 

He supposes he could be worried.Under normal circumstances, he would be.But his friends—Kindaichi, Kunimi, Watari—they’re all sensible people, and they’ve never judged him for anything before.Even if it is the burgeoning of some form of _attraction_ , he figures, they won’t say anything about it.Not to Kyoutani.

 

He hopes.

 

——————————-

 

“Why didn’t you call me on that?”

 

Kyoutani’s persistent after one practice, after everyone else is already packed and gone, and Yahaba’s struggling himself with a bag that chose the wrong fucking day to rip.It’s not the right time, not the right place—Yahaba feels himself clench his teeth at the sound of Kyoutani’s voice—not the right person.

 

“Fuck off,” he breathes, feeling especially irritable.

 

“No.”There are footsteps, and Kyoutani steps in front of him, fists clenched by his side.“You always call me on that mistake, _always._ Why the fuck aren’t you?”Underneath his words is the implied tone of, _Why aren’t you criticizing me anymore?_ which Yahaba understands all too well.

 

“I said fuck _off_ ,” he repeats, angrily shoving his jacket into his backpack before looking up.Kyoutani returns his glare, eyebrows furrowed and eyes _alive_.It’s an expression that returns a spark to the pit of Yahaba’s stomach; it’s been too long since he’s seen it, and suddenly he’s _wanting_ —of what, he’s not sure.

 

Kyoutani shakes his head, taking another step forward.“Some shitty captain you are, if you’re not gonna even help your players to _improve_ , or whatever bullshit you set your mind out to do.”

 

The proximity is stifling.Yahaba wants to step back, but this is a pride battle, and Yahaba never loses those.He keeps his standing, tilting his chin up to earn even more height over Kyoutani as he seethes, “You’re not _my_ player.You’ve made that abundantly clear, with how little you actually listen to me.”

 

Kyoutani narrows his eyes.“Maybe I’d listen to you if your instructions weren’t shit.”

 

_Oh,_ Yahaba thinks. This is good.He hasn’t felt like this in a while.Sure, staring at Kyoutani, thinking about his lips, his hands—they all occupy his mind far too much, but _this_ — There’s something about the fights that he’s missed far too much.

 

“Maybe they wouldn’t seem like shit if you actually knew anything about volleyball.”

 

Kyoutani’s eyebrow twitches, and he reaches forward.It’s a sudden motion, shocking in the manner of Kyoutani doing the pushing, and Yahaba’s back is flat against the cool metal of the lockers.A lock digs into his back, sending waves of discomfort up his spine, but he breathes evenly, watching Kyoutani with eager eyes.Kyoutani’s hand are on his biceps, hands _just_ as firm as Yahaba always figured they’d be, squeezing hard enough to bruise.It hurts a little, if he’s being honest with himself.

 

It’s exhilarating. 

 

Kyoutani’s eyes drift lower, his expression changing in a way so minute that Yahaba isn’t sure if his brows are softening or furrowing.He stares, eyes wide in— Yahaba blinks; Kyoutani has the gall to look surprised.

 

Yahaba realizes he’s smiling.

 

Kyoutani takes a breath, releasing the pressure around Yahaba’s shoulders.“If you shape up, I will too.”

 

That’s the underlying sentiment behind all of their fights, but it gives Yahaba pause because neither of them have ever said it _out loud_.There’s a shocking tenderness to the words; Yahaba feels his cheeks heating up, and all he can manage is a startled nod.

 

Kyoutani nods in recognition, and glances down, chewing his lip.He looks as if he wants to say something more—and since when has Kyoutani _ever_ hesitated in saying something?—but then one blink, and he’s gone, hustling out of the locker room with the door swinging at his back.

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba catches himself in a thought that he’d never admit to having one day during lunch, when Kindaichi is explaining some manga to Kunimi and Watari, and Yahaba is laughing at something Kyoutani said under his breath. 

 

“Maybe _you_ should date him,” Kyoutani’d grumbled, watching as Kunimi pointed out that no one will date Kindaichi if he behaves like such a nerd.It’s not meant to be heard, Yahaba’s sure, but he laughs regardless.

 

“Jealous?” he asks softly, bumping Kyoutani with his shoulder; the other three continue their conversation, now about some anime adaptation.

 

Kyoutani whirls on Yahaba with a glare.“Of which one?”

 

Yahaba shrugs.“I don’t know.Either.Both.”

 

Kyoutani snorts.“As if.”

 

“Just because no one wants to date _you_ doesn’t mean that you should make fun of Kunimi’s crush,” Yahaba says, because he doesn’t know when to quit.

 

“Hm.Well, no one’d date you either.”

 

“Oh yeah?Says who?”

 

Kyoutani raises an eyebrow, and reaches up a hand to ruffle the bangs of Yahaba’s hair.Yahaba freezes, not sure whether to tense or relax at the blunt scrape of nails weaving through his hair.“You look like you’re trying too hard,” Kyoutani grumbles.“I thought girls don’t like that.”

 

Yahaba laughs lightly, feeling his heart thud in his chest.“And guys?”

 

“Stop flirting,” Watari mumbles, and Yahaba glances away from Kyoutani to see the other three watching them.Kindaichi ducks his head into his shoulder to hide his laugh; Kunimi covers his mouth with a hand, trying to maintain a bored expression. 

 

The hand in his hair is gone in an instant.

 

Yahaba glares at Watari, scooting an inch away from Kyoutani and refocusing on his lunch, as if it had magically increased in interest over the past five minutes.He swallows back the thought that had occurred to him, vowing to never revisit it again.

 

_I wouldn’t mind being his boyfriend._

 

——————————-

 

_we’ll watch that american movie after u help me with my math homework_

 

Yahaba overlooks the fact that Kyoutani’s demanding him to help with his math (as opposed to _asking_ , which is the _polite_ thing to do) to realize that they’re watching a movie together.At Kyoutani’s house.When Yahaba is oh-so-hopelessly and not-at-all-subtly realizing the extent of how much he likes him.

 

It’s a bad idea.

 

_okay,_ he texts back.

 

——————————-

 

“I don’t—“ Yahaba pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, taking a deep breath.“I don’t get it.None of what they’re saying makes sense.”

 

Kyoutani sighs, and pauses the movie, looking vaguely miffed.“They’re plotting a murder.”

 

Yahaba rolls his eyes.“This is way too complicated.Can’t we watch something else?”

 

Kyoutani sighs, likely muttering some curses under his breath, but he changes the movie anyways.It’s something lighter, Yahaba figures from the music, but still— It’s not his fault English is so damn difficult to follow.He zones out for a good thirty minutes, garnering no information aside from the fact that there are two boys (best friends, maybe?) going to school (college, high school?) and having issues that involve yelling (homework, girl problems?).

 

Outside of the movie, however, he’s hyperaware—of everything, really; Kyoutani’s hand rests on the couch in between them, leaving no room for Yahaba to place his hand there without touching him, so he instead curls his hands on his lap.Kyoutani watches movies with the weirdest of expressions, his nose crinkling slightly, as if the movie either frustrates him or enthralls him.When he gets _really_ engrossed, he chews on his thumb, sometimes even daring to lave his tongue over it.

 

Yahaba wonders if he had an oral fixation as a kid, and feels his face heat up.He imagines Kyoutani’s hands on his body, but that train of thought leads to him imagining Kyoutani’s mouth on his body, and he feels almost ashamed. 

 

“You’re not paying attention,” Kyoutani says, eyes not moving from the screen.

 

“Sorry,” Yahaba chokes out, his head snapping in the direction of the television.There are two boys on the screen, but Yahaba has no idea what’s happening.Even if it _was_ in Japanese, he figures he still wouldn’t have an inkling.

 

“I’m lost,” he admits quietly.

 

Kyoutani grunts.“Because you’re not watching, dumbass.”

 

“Fuck off.You said you’d help me.”

 

“I like you.I didn’t at first, but there’s something about you that I couldn’t stop thinking about, and it drove me crazy.”He pauses, waving a hand around tiredly.

 

Yahaba sucks in his breath, staring at Kyoutani in shock.“What?”

 

“It’s a confession scene,” he explains, shrugging in an embarrassed manner.“They’re admitting their feelings.”

 

Yahaba’s cheeks burn.He bites back the—what is it?Disappointment, really?He shouldn’t even feel disappointed; it’s not like Kyoutani’s confession would _ever_ be so eloquent, if it were to happen.He turns back to the screen, watching as one of the boys tears up.“They’re both guys,” he muses, almost as an afterthought. _American movies are interesting._

 

Kyoutani shrugs.“Yeah, guess they are.”

 

——————————-

 

It’s small, but the words give him something to hope for. 

 

“Do you think Kyoutani likes guys?”

 

Watari blinks, and almost chokes.“Where did that come from?” he asks, and then shakes his head.“Actually, no, don’t answer that.”He pauses.“Did I not tell you he liked you all those weeks ago?”

 

“Well, yes,” Yahaba admits, “But you didn’t _mean_ it.”

 

Watari rolls his eyes.“Sure, because I’m your best friend and I lie to you about important things like this. Yahaba, you overthink everything, and I know you’re supposed to with a lot of things, but— Hadn’t it crossed your mind that just maybe he likes you back?That there’s no write-off of what he does?”

 

At this point, Yahaba isn’t sure what seems more ridiculous: him overthinking to the point where he stopped believing his best friend, or Kyoutani _actually_ liking him.He swallows, feeling a tad bit embarrassed.“I thought maybe he just has a hard time making friends, and he—“ He shrugs.“I don’t know.”

 

“Have some faith in yourself,” Watari insists.“Do you think he looks at other people like that?”

 

“Like _what_?”

 

Watari chews his lip, eyeing Yahaba with an air of caution.He sighs after a long moment.“Just—just don’t overthink things this time, okay?”He laughs lightly, nudging Yahaba with his shoulder.“You spend so much time in your own head that you miss a lot of stuff here on earth.”

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba tries to be patient.He stops thinking about things so much, and just— He watches.He learns a lot that way.

 

He learns that Kyoutani doesn’t wear jackets when it’s cold, because he apparently doesn’t get cold easily. He tells Yahaba that this comes from his mom’s side of the family and lots of childhood vacations to some island in the South Pacific. 

 

He learns that Kyoutani likes Kara Age Kun, because he never throws away the packaging after he’s done, instead tucking it in his backpack when he thinks no one is looking.(Yahaba always is.)

 

Kyoutani always sits up straighter when he hears something that interests him, but that’s the only sign he’ll ever give of interest; he always refuses to look up.

 

Kyoutani chews on his pencils when he’s frustrated, and smiles to himself when he understands a new concept.

 

Kyoutani doesn’t like spicy ramen, but he’ll always take Yahaba’s leftover bean sprouts.

 

Yahaba’s busy mulling over these things as Kyoutani walks him home from one of their study sessions, shoulders bumping and hands brushing just the slightest bit. He doesn’t see the crack in the sidewalk until it catches his toe.

 

 

Yahaba stumbles, but a hand on his arm catches him.Kyoutani helps tug him to his feet, and the hand lingers, thumb idly rubbing circles across his bicep.Words escape Yahaba in a breath, and they sound like _Thank you_ , but they feel a whole lot like _Kiss me_.

 

“Be careful,” Kyoutani says, voice too soft to be a grumble.

 

Yahaba can’t help it; he glances at Kyoutani’s lips.“I’ll try,” he mumbles.

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba’s never been one to drink, especially during their slightly large-scale team parties that started sometime when Oikawa was captain, but Kyoutani makes it awfully hard on him.

 

Yahaba makes a game out of it.Every time Kyoutani does something that makes him lose his breath or feel his heartbeat quicken, he drinks.When Kyoutani shows up (late, of _course_ he’s late to a party), black t-shirt that Yahaba’s never seen stretching across the expanse of his chest, Yahaba takes a shot.It burns, but it sends a kind of rush to his head that he thinks he doesn’t mind.

 

When Kyoutani appears at Yahaba’s side, hand brushing the small of his back because it’s crowded, really, in their small circle of friends— Yahaba grabs Watari’s drink and finishes it.

 

When Kyoutani looks at him, later, when things are starting to get hazy and his gaze is warm—warmer, even, than what he’d been drinking—Yahaba finishes a bottle of something that Watari’d gotten him from the kitchen.

 

When Yahaba giggles and stumbles into his chest while they’re outside and getting some air, Kyoutani stiffens, and Yahaba grabs his drink and finishes it.

 

It’s a _fun_ game, and the best part of it?It almost feels like Kyoutani doesn’t mind.So he keeps drinking, waiting for the part where Kyoutani reciprocates his advances, because that’s how things work.It only makes _sense_ , because Kyoutani’s warm and soft and close to Yahaba—closer with each drink he takes.He takes another shot, ignoring Watari’s concerned look, and hope it’s the lucky shot where Kyoutani and him collide.

 

“Is he okay?” 

 

Someone’s asking— Oh, it’s Kyoutani.Of course it’s Kyoutani.Yahaba smiles dopily, reaching a hand out; he thinks he was aiming for Kyoutani’s face, but it latches onto his shoulder.Putting all his weight onto the hand, he stumbles forward, and Kyoutani’s arms encircle his waist, holding him up. 

 

Watari shrugs from somewhere beside him.“He’s—um.If you get him to stop drinking, he will be, I think.I haven’t been able to do that yet.”

 

_Oh_ , Yahaba realizes, and feels betrayed for a second. _They’re talking about me behind my back?_ Wait, no— That can’t be right.He’s there with them.They’re talking about him _in front_ of his back.He laughs, nuzzling against Kyoutani’s neck.

 

There’s an intake of breath, and then— “How do I get him to stop drinking?”

 

Yahaba glances at Watari from the corner of his eye, watching his shoulders bob in a tipsy shrug.“I dunno,” he says simply.

 

Kyoutani’s skin is warm against his face—soft, surprisingly.Is neck skin supposed to be so soft?Yahaba hums contentedly; he feels a faint pulse against his lips, and finds himself mouthing at the skin.Kyoutani’s hands tighten on his waist; Yahaba hums in approval.

 

“Yahaba,” comes Kyoutani’s voice, sounding thick and warbled.Yahaba stops, glancing up at Kyoutani.“Stop drinking.”

 

Yahaba giggles, and shakes his head.

 

Kyoutani sighs, face too soft to be scowling.“What can I do to get you to stop drinking?”

 

It’s such an _open_ question, and Yahaba doesn’t know for a solid second.He knows what he _wants_ Kyoutani to do—push him against a wall, kiss him senseless, make him forget everything but his name, touch him, make him weak in the knees—Yahaba gasps.He remembers Watari standing next to them, and isn’t it Watari’s fault for bringing up the “wall thing” in the first place?

 

“Shove me into the nearest wall and kiss me.”

 

That does it.He watches, in the course of one second, as Kyoutani’s shoulders tense up, face shutting down into something that isn’t even _anger_ , but better classified as empty. Cold.Impersonal. The hands around his waist vanish; he watches in near slow-motion as Kyoutani brushes past him, and is gone.

 

Yahaba sways, and bumps into Watari, blinking numbly at the space Kyoutani had just been in.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He realizes it’s Watari speaking, but he just shrugs, hand groping blindly until he finds Watari’s cup. _Maybe the next drink is the lucky one_ , he thinks, and tosses it back.

 

——————————-

 

Morning is hell, and Yahaba wishes he could die for more than one reason.

 

“How badly did I fuck up?”

 

Watari hums into the phone line.“Not so bad, I think.He can’t hate you any more than he did when he first met you.”

 

Yahaba snorts.“That’s reassuring.”

 

——————————-

 

Kyoutani avoids him, but that’s to be expected.Yahaba only feels marginally devastated.

 

He purposefully pairs up with a very confused underclassman during practice, gets dressed for class faster than any time in the past two years, and seats himself across the courtyard from the rest of them during lunch.Yahaba stares.(And mopes.)

 

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Watari announces after a pitiful fifteen minutes of lunch with nothing but Yahaba sighing. He rises to his feet.Yahaba reaches out a hand before he can help himself, latching onto Watari’s pant leg.

 

“What?”Yahaba’s voice is shrill; he forces it back down to a loud whisper.“No, Watari, you can’t—“

 

“Let him,” Kunimi mumbles.“He’ll do better than you in this case.”

 

Watari nods, glancing back to Yahaba for permission. _He’ll help, better than you can_ , Yahaba thinks, and it makes him ashamed to admit that maybe he has been a shit friend for Kyoutani.Friends don’t hit on friends, after all. He swallows, and lets go of Watari’s leg, nodding back down at his lunch.

 

Watari heads over to Kyoutani, and it’s all Yahaba can do to resist watching every single fraction of emotion that slides across Kyoutani’s face as they talk.He pokes at his lunch with one chopstick, hand clenching into a fist against his leg.

 

“Relax,” Kindaichi advises.

 

Yahaba snorts weakly. _That’s rich_ , he thinks. 

 

“Hey.”

 

The voice is gruff and _lovely_ , and it causes Yahaba’s gaze to snap up in an instant.Kyoutani stands in front of him, shuffling his feet awkwardly.Watari appears at his back, grinning, and the two of them take a seat on opposite sides of Yahaba. 

 

“Are you still gonna help me in math?”

 

Yahaba’s lips part in surprise.He manages a nod.Kyoutani grunts, and goes back to his lunch, and it’s in a moment of intense relief that Yahaba realizes he’s been forgiven.

 

“Thank you,” Yahaba whispers, leaning into Watari’s space so Kyoutani won’t hear him. “What’d you tell him?”

 

Watari smiles into his drink.“I just told him you felt really bad about the whole thing, and that you were a super handsy drunk in general.”

 

Yahaba’s hands can barely conceal his whined response.

 

——————————-

 

“Are we friends?”

 

Kyoutani glances away from the movie, eyes scanning over Yahaba’s face.(They were supposed to be studying, Yahaba knows, but the past few weeks have been hard.All they seem to do nowadays is watch English movies.) 

 

“Yeah,” Kyoutani says after a moment.“Guess so.”

 

——————————-

 

The girls in his class find out, because on a whim, he decides to ask for romantic advice.They’re not _bad_ at giving advice, he decides, because girls all know exactly what a girl wants, but that’s the problem.He hadn’t been asking about a girl, which he slowly explains with burning cheeks because…well, what else has he got to lose at this point?

 

The three of his classmates huddled around his desk all squeal at his explanation, immediately peppering him with questions of _Who is it? Is he in this class? Does he go to this school? Is he cute? Is he on the volleyball team?_

 

Yahaba’s eyes widen tellingly on the last question, causing the girls to clap their hands together excitedly and immediately begin chattering amongst themselves.He’s not worried that they’ll tell anyone, because he’s been exchanging notes with these three all year, and they’re trustworthy, but they are _loud_.And when he spots Kyoutani in the door, eyebrows furrowed in question as he holds up his lunch, Yahaba stands, excusing himself with crimson cheeks.

 

“Bye, Yahaba-kun!”the girls call after him, waving in such a sweet way that informs him that they _know_.He throws a glare over his shoulder, holding a finger to his mouth, and then follows Kyoutani out of the door.

 

Kyoutani scowls at the floor as they walk to their usual spot.“You’re popular with the girls,” he grumbles.

 

Yahaba shrugs.“Not really.”

 

“They were flirting—“

 

Yahaba turns, and catches Kyoutani’s eye.“They know there’s someone I like.”

 

“Lucky girl,” Kyoutani attempts, but it’s not as sarcastic as Yahaba figures it’s supposed to be.

 

“Guy,” he corrects, forcing himself to hold Kyoutani’s startled look.“He’s a, um.Lucky guy, I guess.”

 

“Oh,” Kyoutani breathes, and nods.“Didn’t know you were—“

 

“I am.”

 

He nods again, voice quieter this time.“Me too, I think.”

 

——————————-

 

“Hey,” Kyoutani starts, and Yahaba scowls because _fuck him_ , it had been so hard to focus on the English movie with Kyoutani lying right beside him, and now he’s just _barely_ clinging onto the plot line.When Kyoutani shifts, nudging his shoulder, Yahaba feels whatever lingering hold he has on the movie slip through his grasp.

 

Yahaba sighs, turning to him.“Yes?”

 

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch, close enough that Yahaba can feel the fabric of Kyoutani’s shirt brushing against him whenever he moves, but it feels like there’s a mile between them when Kyoutani starts, “About the party—“

 

Yahaba holds his breath.

 

“You told me to kiss you, and—“Kyoutani shifts away from him, the tips of his ears turning pink.Yahaba watches as his grip on the remote tightens.“And I get that you were drunk, but if you make fun of me again like that—“

 

_If you make fun of me again like that…_ Yahaba blinks.That’s what Kyoutani had thought of the situation?That he was making fun of him?That he wasn’t blatantly (at least, it had been blatant in Yahaba’s mind) flirting with him? 

 

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Yahaba says quickly, sitting straighter. 

 

Kyoutani turns to glare at him, pushing himself up off the couch and heading towards his kitchen.“ _Don’t_ ,” he hisses.“Don’t do that.”

 

“Kyoutani, will you listen to me—“

 

He disappears through the doorway, and Yahaba shakes his head, slamming his hand against the arm of the couch angrily before following after him.Kyoutani’s hovering by the door to the pantry, one hand braced on the wood and back quivering as if—as if he’s furious.Yahaba sighs, and shakes his head again.“Kyoutani—“

 

“I don’t—“ Kyoutani whirls around, flailing his arms wide.“I don’t know _who_ told you, but I figured we were, I don’t know, friends, or some bullshit, and that you wouldn’t fucking make fun of me over it, because that’s a shitty thing to do—“

 

“I’m not making fun of you!” Yahaba yells, and steps forward.He shakes his fists, and realizes that there’s fabric gripped between his fingers as he does so—that he’s shaking Kyoutani, who’s now pressed up against the door.The irony of it makes him want to laugh.

 

Kyoutani seethes, looking up at him with eyes that are dark and raw and—hurt.“Then _what_ were you doing, huh?”

 

Yahaba thinks back on the time weeks ago, when he’d discovered Kyoutani’s mouth and thought, _Hey, he’d be nice to kiss_.He thinks about the time that he’d discovered Kyoutani’s hands and thought, _Hey, those might be nice to hold_.He thinks about the time that he’d taken time to learn Kyoutani’s quirks and thought, _Hey, he might be nice to love_. 

 

What was he doing, huh?He has no fucking clue.

 

It’s a split second decision, really, but it’s one that he’d been thinking about since the beginning.Kyoutani breathes out, likely ready to yell some more.Yahaba closes his eyes, and kisses him.

 

——————————-

 

If Yahaba’s life were composed of snapshots, like frames in an animated movie, he figures he’d be able to follow the progression of events with more clarity.As it is, however, Yahaba’s life is composed of a mess of brief feelings and sensations flickering in and out of fruition.

 

There are lips, pressed against his own, strong and soft at the same time, and warm.There are lips against his neck, against his jaw, against his collarbone, burning heat in their wake.And sometimes teeth, too—teeth that nip against his lip, that tug against the soft skin at the base of his shoulder, that promise marks and bruises for days to come.

 

There are hands—sometimes fisting in his hair, sometimes cradling his jaw like something fragile, sometimes curving around his shoulders, his hips, his waist.He feels those hands against the backs of his thighs—sturdy, pushing hard enough to bruise—and suddenly he’s weightless, his own hands scrambling for a grip on Kyoutani’s shoulders.

 

Kyoutani stumbles, but then they’re moving, and Yahaba captures Kyoutani’s lower lip between his teeth.There’s a sound then, too—something akin to a growl, but oh-so-different—and Yahaba wants to laugh, to relish in the beauty of it.

 

He goes weightless once more, until there’s a bed beneath him, and Kyoutani follows suit, crawling on hands and knees until Yahaba is frozen, awestruck beneath him.Something in his expression must make Kyoutani nervous, because he hesitates, eyes growing clouded with worry; Yahaba washes it away with a kiss. 

 

He slides his hands up over Kyoutani’s shoulders, easing every aspect of tension out of them, and then moves them into Kyoutani’s hair, easing a different kind of tension back into his body with a sharp tug.Kyoutani gasps into his mouth.

 

His hands move lower, fiddling with the hem of Kyoutani’s shirt. _Off_.Kyoutani sits up, movement laying all of his weight across Yahaba’s thighs.Yahaba chases him, pressing kisses to the newly exposed skin as Kyoutani tosses his shirt somewhere across the room.He bites along Kyoutani’s collarbone, tongue immediately soothing the spot, and Kyoutani rocks forward, his firmness brushing against Yahaba’s stomach.

 

The strangest sort of whining sound escapes Yahaba’s lips, leaving him feel almost embarrassed.

 

“You—“Kyoutani’s voice is breathy, tight, strained.He pulls off Yahaba’s shirt in one swift motion, calloused thumbs rubbing patterns along his sides.Yahaba leans into the touch, arching his back to bring himself flush against Kyoutani.“God, you’re so—“

 

_What?_ Yahaba wants to ask, but Kyoutani kisses him instead, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to convey something he can’t quite put to words.

 

He moves back, sliding off of Yahaba’s lap and onto the floor, drawing a soft whine out of Yahaba’s lips as he goes.His hands move down Yahaba’s sides, fingers fiddling with the button of his slacks.He chews his lip between his teeth, frustration evident, and then the button flies open with a _pop_.Nimble fingers work their way under his waistband, but hesitate along the line of his boxers.

 

“What are you—?”

 

Kyoutani ducks his head and mouths at the clothed skin, eliciting a sharp gasp.Kyoutani glances up, and Yahaba sees a raw display of emotions across his face—something tender, something else rough, another _burning_.He swallows, feeling a renewed fire spread through the pit of his stomach.

 

“Can I—?”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

——————————-

 

“Do you—“

 

The words stop. Yahaba hums sleepily, burying his nose in Kyoutani’s neck and urging him to continue.One of his hands skims along his side, feeling the bumps and dips of lean muscle and youth, fingertips memorizing every little detail they find.He feels overwhelmingly _content_ doing so, because feeling Kyoutani is something he’s only done in daydreams, but now he _can_.

 

Kyoutani sighs, one of his hands idly winding through Yahaba’s hair.“Do you still want to stay for dinner?”

 

Yahaba glances up suddenly, shifting to rest his chin on Kyoutani’s chest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Kyoutani looks embarrassed, doubtful—scared.He glances away, the tips of his ears dark pink.“If you—if _that_ was all you wanted, I mean—“

 

A sound escapes Yahaba’s lips, and he leans closer, cradling Kyoutani’s face with one hand.He kisses him—once, twice, three times for good measure—soft pecks that could only possibly convey strong affection.“Kyoutani. _Kentarou_. Stop that; that’s ridiculous.”

 

Kyoutani leans his forehead against Yahaba’s, face open and soft.“You mean—?”

 

Yahaba twines his fingers with Kyoutani’s, bringing their hands up between them.Slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Kyoutani’s, he lays a kiss across his knuckles.“I’m staying for dinner.For a long time past that, too, if you want.”

 

It takes a moment, but Yahaba watches the tension drain from Kyoutani’s shoulders.He smiles softly, settling back down beside Kyoutani.“But first, sleep.”

 

Kyoutani grunts in agreement, squeezing his hand.

 

——————————-

 

Yahaba finds that, even now, he stares at Kyoutani a lot, because he can.He touches him a lot, because he can.He even kisses him a lot—ignoring the voiced objections from Watari and Kindaichi—because he can.

 

(He thinks he might be starting to _love_ him, because he can.)

**Author's Note:**

> someone give watari a cookie, he is an A+ friend


End file.
